


The Vassal

by MarcellaEReeves



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bathing/Washing, Erotica, Feudalism, First Time Blow Jobs, Forbidden Love, From himself, Hand Jobs, Historical Fantasy, Keith saves Shiro, M/M, Massage, Middle Ages, Power Imbalance, keith takes care of shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaEReeves/pseuds/MarcellaEReeves
Summary: He ran his tongue over the petals of his mouth, tasting wine and sweetness, and drinking deeply of both. Unjustifiably possessive, he worshipped his god with lecherous devotion, and his king allowed the offering, just and divine as he was. He allowed Keith's hands to pay their tributes, allowed his impure mouth to taste divinity. Where his lord gave Keith took, greedy as desperate, and all the while he humbled Keith with the whimpers and sighs that would make far stronger men than him tremble and shake.Keith is sworn to live his life protecting his king, a task he takes gladly, even when sometimes that extends to protecting his king from himself.





	1. The Vassal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for Hannah for the Sheith secret Santa gift exchange 2018! I hope you like it, and ~~Merry Christmas~~ Happy new year!

There had been a war. 

A war of fire and ice and magic tainted black with barbaric sacrifices. Of a stolen prince, his body corrupted and warped, screaming and alone, and vowing for retribution. Of a foreign land and a foreign castle with walls too high to scale and too thick to break, and a foreign people who spoke in a language the prince couldn’t. An emperor that had taken the prince’s family and arms and arm, and had almost laid claim to his mind. Yet the prince had been rescued and remembering his vows and the pleas made by his people he and his rescuer took vengeance upon the emperor and his foreign armies, driving them out and driving them away.

And so the war was won, and then there was a king.

A king forged in fire and born from the ashes of victory. A man of flesh and bronze, of God, made human. Hair capped in snow like the mountains around the capital, and body painted with scars, evidence of his journeys and victories.

And to every king, there was a vassal.

A boy swearing his loyalty to a prince and then giving himself in homage to the king. His whole life vowed in service to a single man, and yet a pledge he would make a thousand times again. Where his king cared for the people, the vassal cared for his king, swearing life and soul in service.

To the vassal, his king was his everything.

—  
  
His king had been worried recently. Stress was a familiar friend to his liege, but recently it had draped over his form like a cloak made of lead. Others wouldn’t notice, but it was Keith’s craft to see everything. Everything that happened in the castle, every movement, every action and reaction he saw. Including how his king had been fraying under the pressure. His shoulders were slightly drawn, expression slightly pinched, jaw just a tad firmer than usual. The meetings he held were with clipped words.   
  
No one noticed, because his king was a master of politics. Keith was proud to be sworn to such a competent ruler, his heart swelled with it.   
  
But though the king was competent, it didn’t mean he was infallible. God though he may be, his soul was still wrapped in a human shell. Still subject to the weakness of the mortal body. Still able to suffer pain.  
  
To Keith, it was unacceptable.

So he plotted, in a way that only he could. He moved schedules, using his position to influence. He arranged deliveries, using his personal account to pay for them. He ensured that when the time came, he’d have the king exactly where he wanted him. 

He’d shadowed, as ever, as the king realised his afternoon was free. He’d been surprised, but rather than suspect Keith, he’d assumed one of his aides had been generous. Or all of them had been.   
  
‘They can see all the work you do, your majesty. Your schedule is far busier than those of other rulers.’   
  
His words had soothed, eased the frown that had appeared, and Keith carefully schooled the smirk from his face. His king would only fret if he thought his body’s weaknesses were being noticed by the staff.   
  
So he’d been pleased when they’d instead headed for the royal suite, with the predictable intention of signing off on some backlogged documents of some sort or other. Though his ruler would find it difficult, as Keith had servants move the whole desk - documents and all - earlier in the morning.

They’d entered, and Keith knelt whilst waiting for his ruler to realise, which he did, and turned to him in confusion. 

‘What’s going on, Keith? Why are you kneeling, you can stand.’

It was sometimes a burden, knowing his king better than he did himself. The edge of hurt wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone else, but Keith heard it as he stood.

‘I took the liberty of clearing the rest of our schedules for the day, sire.’ Keith kept his gaze trained to his king’s shoulder, willing his heart to remain steady. It was confusing that he could lead an entire battalion of soldiers into war against a roaring army without fear, yet persuading his ruler to relax made him need to focus on keeping himself calm.

‘If your majesty permits it, I had hoped we could… spend some time together.’

The times they’d been wrapped in one another were never scheduled, and certainly not allowed. To the outside world, he was only a vassal of no birth, having earned his title through luck and loyalty, and certainly not worthy of a private audience with the King, he of God made flesh, of the five directions, of heaven and Earth made whole. 

Certainly not worthy of sharing his company.

And yet, after a pause his King nodded, allowing the careful planning Keith had undertaken to bud and bloom and causing him to release the breath he’d been holding.

And so he began carefully undressing his king. The clasps that held capes and armour alike coming undone with practised familiarity. They fell away in his hands, being placed on the ottoman before Keith returned, the entire time being fixed under his king’s pensive gaze.

When there was nothing under his hands but flesh and scars, Keith traced his fingers down his king’s arms and took his hands, one of man and one of metal, before leading backwards to the recess in the floor. Already heated water had been filled, a complicated network of pipes passing mountain water over fires to heat it. The engineer Hunk had taken it upon himself to craft the system, one which Keith had considered frivolous until he’d experienced the heated water flowing freely and without limit himself.

And for his king, he considered nothing too frivolous.

So the tiled recess was filled with the heated mountain water and upon it, herbs and flowers, recommended to aid in relaxation, were scattered. Keith lead them both back, taking each step carefully so as not to slip and held under his king’s gaze until his feet were planted firmly on the bottom. He changed direction, pushing and leading his leader back until he sat and the water came up to his chest.

Though his king still looked conflicted, he hadn’t started to accept the turn of events. So Keith took a few more steadying breaths as he poured and tasted the wine he’d arranged for the evening, testing for poisons, before turning back to his king.

‘I am your vassal, I am sworn to you and submit to your will. I have pledged my life to your care, and this duty I now enact.’ Keith extended his hand towards his ruler, trying to hold his trembling as calloused hands instinctively came upon him. ‘That I am your sword, bound to your arm, and no man would wish for the steel of his weapon to become blunt through neglect.’

His king understood, eyes widening a little before his hands began moving. His thumbs kneading small circles against Keith’s palm and fingers. As with everything his king did, his focus was absolute, and though others would say Keith had spoken out of turn or that he had no right commanding his sire in such a way, his plans would be useless if his lord’s mind was not first stilled.   
  
So Keith allowed himself to be moved. To be pulled and turned as his lord deemed fit. He groaned as deft fingers ironed knots he’d been too busy to have eased, and pains he’d been ignoring were found and exposed with ‘tsk’’s and ‘Keith..’’s in his low timbre, and soft kisses were placed to his flesh in those places, stoking the embers in his loin. In everything his king did, he threw his whole being, and Keith had himself wondering if there was a single man or woman who wouldn’t find themselves falling into weakness and sin if his king were a courtesan. Dangerous thoughts… mutinous thoughts, when they were both dressed in the robes of newborns.   
  
His king was too fine to be compared to even the highest courtesan, however. His hands too talented and his mind so focused. His mouth found Keith’s collarbone and in this, like in everything, Keith could not deny him. So he relaxed his head and allowed his king the access he desired, allowed him to drag him through the water until their bodies touched. Hands slipped behind his back as his king’s tongue and teeth continued to lave his neck and jaw. If he did not control the situation he would be rendered useless and unable to serve. So he forced his mind away from the slippery place his king’s tongue had dragged it to and started washing his sire. The soap he had chosen, a recommendation from the herbalist Allura for the soothing and calming properties of its fragrance, and which Keith did not find the smell of it offensive himself. But now that his king was mentally distracted from his duties, Keith could begin in earnest.  
  
His king seemed to notice the scent, however, whispering a small ‘Oh, I see,’ behind the shell of his ear and casting a shiver down his spine despite the warmth of the water. He foamed the soap into a cloth and began his work.   
  
He was no maid or servant, more accustomed to the ways of the sword than the way of cleaning men, but he’d researched his self-appointed task, determined that his king would not be left wanting in this.  
  
So he began, swiping flowers away from where they clung to tanned skin before polishing the dirt from him. The war had kissed them both, but where ugly pink lines marred his own skin, his king held only beauty. Such strength that a man could wear such brands of his conviction. Under his fingertips, muscles and sinews flexed and tensed, stronger than any stallion Keith had known.

He was fixed under his king’s gaze as he worked, silver regarding him with an unreadable expression that made Keith’s stomach tense and clench. 

When his king drank the wine, ruby stained his lips, and Keith was only a man, mortal and weak. He ran his tongue over the petals of his mouth, tasting wine and sweetness, and drinking deeply of both. Unjustifiably possessive, he worshipped his god with lecherous devotion, and his king allowed the offering, just and divine as he was. He allowed Keith's hands to pay their tributes, allowed his impure mouth to taste divinity. Where his lord gave Keith took, greedy as desperate, and all the while he humbled Keith with the whimpers and sighs that would make far stronger men than him tremble and shake.

Once his flesh was cleaned and the tension started to melt from his liege under a hazy fog, Keith stood, ignoring how his body reacted from the silent praise of grey eyes raking over his form. Here he would have no discomfort befall his king, the hearth warming the air enough to chase away the chill of wet skin before he encouraged his king to stand.

Towelling placed on the edge of the bed, he lead his king to sit, to begin the act of drying. 

He started by brushing his king’s hair, of strands resembling snow. And with the build and stature his king had, comparing him to the immovable mountains outside the castle walls seemed only fit. He couldn’t imagine a time either he or they would be toppled or conquered, and many had tried to ruin both. He combed with gentle repetitions, boar haired brush taking the excess water away without tugging, and the heat from the fire would aid the rest of the drying. Keith found it a little colder than he would prefer, but he knew his king preferred a less intense kind of heat.

His journey continued south, exchanging brush for cotton towelling and hair for shoulders and arms and hands, to the torso. To waist, hips, lower, to legs and feet, and all the while passing the flecks and mounds of scars. To wrist and ankles marred with the impressions of shackles. The Galran emperor had mocked the fallen prince and paraded him around for the amusement of those soldiers when he’d refused to surrender, yet his king never yielded. He never gave them the satisfaction of begging, even as they took his arm.

Keith had gutted every one of them.

When his king was suitably dry Keith wrapped the towel around his own waist before gathering the rest of his supplies: Food, the wine, and another selection of fragranced oils Allura had recommended, all with unpronounceable names. But the stoppers were at least colour coded to accommodate Keith’s medical incompetence. 

Shiro noticed the supplies as Keith laid them out on the bed, chuckling ‘I see you came prepared.’ he said.   
  
‘As always, sir.’

Keith first ate each food, testing for poisons and spoiling as was customary, as he did before with the wine. Even if it wasn’t the custom Keith would have still chosen to, so as to keep his king safe. The delicate kind of bean paste treats his king preferred, heavy to encourage sleep, but sweet enough to indulge his King’s tooth might not have been to Keith’s own tastes, but he still kept a neutral face throughout.

Noticing how his king’s gaze had slipped from his body to the sweets, Keith raised one to his king’s mouth, struggling to maintain his neutral expression as a delicate pink tongue flicked across his fingertips. If anything, the thinness of his mouth seemed to spur the childish streak his king had somehow managed to keep a hold of, grey eyes sparkling with mischief.

He surged up and slipped a tongue across his king’s mouth, tasting that mischief, and melting it into something far more dangerous.

Yet he still had a list to complete, a plan of the evening, so he broke away to select one of the jars of softly scented waxes to comb through his king’s hair, yet not without noticing how his king’s gaze traced his lips.

He applied the wax through his king’s hair and behind his ears, a soft wax of bees and oils, designed to melt and infuse the wearer’s nights with sound sleep.

The other bottles were oils designed to aid in relaxation. He massaged the points on his king’s temples which had been demonstrated to him, as his king palmed across his chest with rough hands in an attempt to distract him, childish nature seemingly restored. He became aware that only part of the inspection was to cause mischief, the other was tracing his scars and nicks that had been under the water. Yet even though his king was caring for him, the smooth metal and rough callouses were dragging his focus away.

He pulled away before climbing the bed and coming to a kneeling position behind his king’s back, who’s head turned to follow his movement. Keith took his liege by the head, turning it to face forward before palming some more of the oil to warm it. His hands were always unusually warm, the oil didn’t take long to heat.

He smoothed it over the hard planes of his king’s back, feeling out how the muscles flexed and strained under his fingertips. The knots of tension in Allura’s back had seemed like small mounds, where his king was a seemingly solid wall. Yet as he probed further he realised that his king’s muscles were just larger in general, and so he began teasing the knots out. Areas where the muscles had spasmed and cramped and had yet to relax on their own, his fingers encouraged them to ease. Some were easy, melting away like warmed butter. Others held fast like limpets on the hull of a great ship, slowing it and causing drag. Keith struggled with those as a novice, trying to remember Allura’s advice of pressure, of areas that were always problematic, of places that would hurt his king.

And yet a low groan rumbled from the man under his hands, vibrating through Keith’s fingers and clenching his lower belly. He tilted his body to see his king with his eyes closed, long lashes fluttering against cheeks dusted pink. His breathing was slow and controlled, practised exercises - with the exception of the blush, for which Keith needed to bite his lip to focus against.

He slid around to kneel before his king, his hands sliding down the man’s side as he moved, settling on his left hand. He started again massaging the fingers and palm before moving to the thumb and wrist.

Almost out of habit he pressed his lips to the ring adorning the middle finger, an echo to his vow of fealty, of the day he swore his life and service to this man, to his god in mortal clothing, to the man who looked upon him like he would march into the depths of hell to rescue him, or could hang every star in the sky.

The first Keith had already done. He’d already marched through hell to rescue Shiro, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

The latter, Keith knew he would spend the rest of this lifetime, and every other life, attempting to achieve.

‘Let me kiss you again, Keith.’

The request was unexpected, yet who could refuse? No mortal, and Keith had a persisting weakness for his king. Keith rose and followed the direction of his king’s hand behind his head.

Slow and soft, his king’s fingertips kneaded into the back of his neck until he relaxed against the older man, muscles in his shoulders and neck creaking as he surrendered. His king had never asked for more than Keith willingly gave, and yet Keith knew he was willing to give his entire self to this man, especially as he was pulled closer, to straddle the man’s thigh and rest a knee on the bed. Pressed against him in this way, his imagination ran away with the thought of his king taking pleasure from his body, and with a stuttering of breath, Keith knew he was more than willing to give himself to that end too.

His king moaned again and Keith could feel him hardening against his hip. He felt how the taught muscles over the monarch’s stomach were starting to give him unexpected friction. An involuntary jerk of his hips had the king moaning against his mouth, metal arm on his waist tightening a fraction to keep him close.

The action was enough to break Keith out of his haze of pleasure, and remembering his duty is to relax his king, he pulled away to gather more oils and his own composure.

He resumed his massage at his king’s feet, pulling toes and stretching tendons, pressing his thumbs into the marks left by shackles. The king watches him work with hazy grey eyes, a delicate knot between his eyebrows, and so Keith redoubled his efforts.

Allura had informed him to be careful with ankles and feet, and so his instruction had only been brief. Not wanting to cripple his king or worse, Keith only used basic pressure, before moving up to sculpted calves and firm thighs. So focused on his task was he that he only realised how his face was contorted when a calloused thumb pressed against his brow.

‘Keith…’

His king’s deep tone pulled his gaze up from his work, eyes catching and widening when he saw how his king hadn’t flagged since their kiss.

His hands were already oiled, already prepared for this, and he’d already massaged every other part of his king’s body.

And it would be relaxing… he palmed more of the unfragranced oil.

His king was different from himself, bigger in all ways. He felt different stroking his king’s prick. His own encounters with his body were clinical, but he wanted Shiro to actually enjoy himself.

And Shiro gasped a little before Keith lowered his gaze, careful to avoid the head with his hands, unsure how the oil would react.

Yet he’d been with women and men, mostly out of obligation or to gain information on his king’s location. It never felt like this, his body’s reactions seemed chemical then. Yet now…

With Shiro, everything felt easy, it felt natural. When he lowered his mouth over the head it wasn’t because Shiro was his king, it was because he loved him. He wanted to make Shiro happy and he wanted… he wanted to be his king’s only. The only man to touch and feel him, to look with reverence and devotion. To be the only one to take his king into his body, a vassal and a vessel, even when their situations forbade more than his services in battle and protection.

The rest came easily, hot weight on his tongue and soft but encouraging moans from Shiro urging him on. Musk and lavender filled his nose as his mouth and hand worked in tandem as his other hand held his king by the knee for access.

A hand fisted lightly in his hair, and he chanced a look up to see Shiro biting at one of the bronze knuckles of his prosthetic. His hair had somehow become dishevelled like he’d been tugging on it, his cheeks had taken even more pink colouration and his eyes screwed almost shut in concentration - yet still open enough to see Keith.

Keith shut his own eyes, focusing back on his own task. He’d not received this treatment many times in the past, preferring his own hand to the mouth of any whore, yet he tried to copy their movements from memory, alternating between sucking and licking, twisting his hand with a firm grip as Shiro’s moaning became gradually less coherent until an accidental scrape of his teeth found his king jerking slightly and Keith’s mouth filled with release.

He pulled away with a final lick before wiping his mouth on his hand and discreetly spitting out with the action. He wiped his hand on the towel at his king’s feet before meeting those steel eyes, softened to stormy grey with exhaustion.

Finally, the knitting of his king’s brow had eased, making the man look younger, making him look his age. He finally seemed at ease, and Keith’s own shoulders drooped at the realisation. All he ever wanted was for Shiro to be happy and safe, and the gentle upturn of his king’s lips let Keith knew his job was done for now.

He stood, clean hand resting on Shiro’s chest as he pushed him into the bed, covers peeled back before tucking him in like fruit in a pie. Already sleep was wrapping its tendrils around Shiro, pulling him under like a benevolent monster of Keith’s design.

With a final kiss to sleepy lips, he left, pleased with his work.


	2. The Vassal - art!

 

[HQ Link](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1PjQiwfL-HEUVGJI99pvrSqDi13Gb9uhB/view?usp=sharing)

 

This is art by the lovely [33-ko on Tumblr](http://33-ko.tumblr.com/)! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put art in a different chapter because it messes up the formatting on mobile when it's in the main body of the text

**Author's Note:**

> OK my understanding of feudalism in the middle ages is... limited, so it's got a lot of fantasy thrown in there. If you're an expert on this subject - that's fabulous for you!


End file.
